


Claustrophobia

by Irrealia



Series: Awake, Arise, or Be Forever Fallen [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:17:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrealia/pseuds/Irrealia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometime after <em>Journey's End</em>, Rose and her Doctor sort out living arrangements with as little discussion as humanly possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claustrophobia

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : If I were the BBC, this would be canon.
> 
> You can read this as a standalone, but it also forms a loose series with [Faithful in Her Fashion](http://archiveofourown.org/works/181237) and [After the Feet of Beauty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/181243). This was a particularly fiddly thing that didn't want to be written; concrit is love!  
> 

Rose’s visits to her parents’ usually begin with a post-work romp with Tony, followed by supper, followed by a visit to the Doctor’s provisional laboratory. (It had been a parlour, in the suite Jackie set up for him, but it hadn't stayed one for very long.)

He’s been experimenting with something he calls “non-technological technology,” hacking together bits and pieces that look like they’ve been sourced from London’s many and plentiful rubbish bins in an attempt to replicate scientific advances that humanity doesn’t quite have the parts for yet. She thinks it sounds mental when he first tells her, but he does seem to be making progress. Whenever his prototypes work correctly, they both grin and hug each other tight. Sometimes their noses bump or their lips brush just so and then they’re kissing. Awkwardly sometimes, teeth clacking into each other and tongues warring, and perfectly sometimes, noses tilted just so and Rose sucking and nibbling the Doctor’s lower lip.

Sometimes they make it all the way to the bed in the next room. Sometimes they decide the carpet burn is worth it.

She’s always up before daybreak, leaving early enough to avoid inquisitive family and make it back to her flat with time to shower and change before work. The Doctor sleeps inhuman amounts, almost as if he’s making up for 900 odd years of barely doing so, with dreams so deep Rose suspects he’d sleep through another Cyberman invasion. If he is disappointed when he wakes to find her gone, he never mentions it.

Except for the fact that they've traded off which one does the sleeping and which one slips off, it's rather like old times in the TARDIS. Except without the TARDIS. They both try not to think about that.

**

A whisper half into her hair, half into her ear, as they lie on the carpet surrounded by hardware bits and bobs. She purrs out a “hmm?” and shifts to hear him better, jamming a bolt into her hip.

“Stay tonight.”

“Work tomorrow, you know that.”

“Liar.” She can’t quite tell if he’s teasing or hurt; his tone is so perfectly neutral. “You have Tuesdays off. Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Is that the weekend in this universe?”

“No, just my schedule. Someone has to be ready to save the world on a Saturday night.”

“Right then. Stay.”

“Bit awkward don’t you think? Mum and Pete finding me here in the morning. Can’t go down to breakfast, can’t starve.”

“Nah, made friends with the kitchen staff. Tinkered with some of their equipment, made some improvements, built a better mousetrap. They’ll send something up.” His eyes are a little twinkly. “En suite bath, probably some spare clothes in your old bedroom. Everything you need, right here. Stay.”

Rose fidgets, trying to find a position on the debris-covered laboratory floor that doesn’t involve being poked by screws. “I sleep diagonally and hog the covers. Make you miserable, I will.” She sticks her tongue out, deliberately playful.

He pulls her in close and tight for a second or two, then lets her go.

**

Rose’s flat tells a tale of expense and neglect. Menacingly tasteful furniture in the parlour, little used. Every cushion is too fluffy. There's dust in the corners of the hypermodern kitchen. The sink is empty, rubbish bin full of the remains of takeaway. The bedroom looks considerably more lived in. The bed is unmade. There's a sprinkling of pink pillows about the floor. Atop the pillows reside clothes discarded as worn or unsuitable, in no particular arrangement. The toilet, too, looks inhabited—a bit too inhabited, if that's possible, with spots of mildew in the bath.

Rose steps out of the bath, too lost in thought to notice either the mildew or the incredible cosmetic clutter on the counter. Or the little noises in her flat that aren’t usually there. She dries off quickly, wraps her hair up in a towel, dabs moisturiser around her eyes, and walks down the corridor to her bedroom, where the Doctor is gently examining the distribution of the scattered clothes, as if there might be rhyme or reason to be found in it, if he stares long enough.

She means to say something but she hasn’t spoken since she woke up, and a horrid croaking noise that might begin with a “D” is the only thing that happens.

“Oh!” The Doctor turns from his examination of her dirty laundry and looks at her brightly. “Hello Rose!”

A number of pertinent questions occur to her, such as “How did you find my flat?” and “How did you get in without the sonic?” and “Did ringing before you pop round never occur to you?” What she says, however, is only a pointed, “I suppose I didn't hear you knocking while I was in the shower.”

“Well, never mind that, managed to get in on my own.” He's positively beaming. “You know, your mother said I'd better stay with her and Pete because you had a horrid little flat, too small for two, and do you know, I thought she was just being rude? I mean it's not horrid, lovely actually. Smells a bit of mildew and chemical air freshener but ah, that's fixable. And Rose. Smells like you. That's perfect, don't fix that.”

Rose crosses her arms over her bare breasts.

“Tiiiiiiiiiny though. I mean absolutely infinitesimal. How do you live in places this small? Every once and awhile your parents' place feels downright claustrophobic, and it's got multiple wings!”

“Used to it, I suppose.” Rose is rapidly reaching her limit for smiling cheerfully through the Doctor's physical and verbal assault on her residence and its privacy. “Did Mum give you directions?”

“Nah, got your address from your ID, worked it out myself. Do you know, public transport is actually quite pleasant? Brilliantly designed system, if I do say so myself. Obviously not as convenient as being able to materialise wherever and whenever I want but still, fascinating bit of temporal engineering, making the trains run on time.”

“Glad you like the Tube.” Rose smiles through gritted teeth.

“Of course I like the Tube. It's a legend!” And then: “Rose Tyler,” says the Doctor. “You do know you're naked, don't you?”

“Of course I know I'm naked, but I was hardly expecting company in my own flat that I've not invited anyone to. The home invasion in progress seemed a little more important.”

It finally occurs to the Doctor that he's failed at meeting human behavioural expectations. Again. Usually Rose is more patient with him, but this is her sactum sanctorum, after all, and well, he imagines he knows now why she never brought him here. His bright mood almost visibly dims, and Rose feels a tiny bit sad about puncturing it, however out of place it was.

“Embarrassing, yeah? Never was very tidy. Remember my room in Mum's old flat?” She giggles a little. It was so pink, and and she could hardly see the pink carpet through its covering of denim and pink jumpers. “Mostly I just sleep here. Change clothes. Wash off alien debris. Sometimes I stay in when I want to be alone. Or when... when Mum tells me you probably need to be alone. It's not—well, it's mine, but it's not my favourite place.” Rose unwinds the towel from her hair, adds it to the collection of items on the floor, and walks towards the Doctor.

“This is one of those times I should have rung in advance, isn't it,” mutters the Doctor, and Rose nods as she starts undoing the buttons on his suit. Charcoal cashmere, this suit, bespoke. Neither Jackie nor Rose could imagine taking him shopping, so they just sent for a tailor. “Just thought, even if you couldn't stay, didn't mean I couldn't see you in the morning—Rose why are you unbuttoning my shirt?”

She eases the shirt off his shoulders. “It's not fair if I'm the only naked one,” she answers, moving down to his belt and then shucking off trousers and pants in one too-expert motion. “Get in bed,” she orders.

They slide under the covers and wiggle together under the sheets, spooning in to one another. This part, the part with the bodies, is easier than the part with the words. His hands play lightly over her body, pinching one nipple just to hear her squeak, and she nestles her bottom firmly against his crotch in response, making his breath hitch a bit. His hands clutch her hips and pull her flush against him. She turns her head back to kiss him, softly at first and then with more pressure, opening her mouth, pushing her tongue between his lips, invading.

When they break from the kiss, breathless, she asks, “Do you think two bedrooms and a study would be too claustrophobic?”

“Welllllll, I'll get used to it, I suppose,” he replies.

They don't leave her bed for the rest of the day.


End file.
